


Arithmancy

by kageygirl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-08
Updated: 2005-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/kageygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven hundred and twenty combinations, and Rodney has to find the one that works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arithmancy

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene for 1x01-1x02, "Rising."

CABDEF. No lock.

Rodney tried to blink away the burning in his eyes. He knew it was likely due to sleep deprivation or repetitive task hypnosis, though now that the city had risen to the surface of the ocean, he couldn't rule out some sort of allergen in the planet's atmosphere.

With his left hand, Rodney tapped the space bar of the laptop perched atop the DHD console, and the next combination popped up. CABDFE. He entered it with his right, and watched the chevrons light up, then fade again. No lock.

It was just a ridiculous anthropomorphic conceit caused by lack of sleep, but the gate was starting to sound frustrated as it powered down.

Rodney could certainly relate.

"Two-hundred-forty-two down, four-hundred-seventy-eight to go," he muttered. Peter Grodin glanced over at him from the next console, but Rodney just shook his head and brought up the next combination. CABEDF, and, oh look, no lock.

Two-hundred-forty-three, CABEFD, and Rodney knew there were far better uses of his time. They'd actually stuck labeled Post-Its on the symbols Lieutenant Ford had identified, to reduce the mental lag time of trying to remember unfamiliar constellations. Any data entry operator could do what Rodney was doing, just running down the list of possible gate addresses.

So there was really no reason Rodney himself needed to be doing this, pressing the same buttons over and over again, wearing the ink off the Post-Its and onto his fingers. But now that they were no longer in immediate danger of death by drowning or imploding under the sea pressure, nothing that demanded his attention couldn't wait until he'd had enough rest to be better able to process complex tasks.

He wouldn't be able to sleep, though. He knew that. And this, at least, was something he could do, something important, even if he wasn't particularly exercising his intellect.

Two-hundred-forty-four, CABFDE. He'd stopped needing to even look for the home chevron somewhere in his first ten. He'd lost interest in figuring prime/not-prime, fractions and square roots of the number he was on sometime before he'd hit forty. Now he just wanted to find the damn address so that they could--

He took a deep breath. Could try to get their people back from the decidedly hostile aliens who'd abducted them.

Rodney flexed his hand a few times, reminding himself to focus on the elements of the problem whose outcomes he could actually affect.

Two-hundred-forty-five, CABFED, and the tension in his forearm coalesced into a tight knot of pain as the gate failed to engage. Rodney sucked in a breath and cradled his arm against his chest, trying to rub out the ache. "Ow. Cramp, cramp, cramp..."

Peter appeared at his shoulder, nodding down at the DHD. "Shall I take over for a while?"

The gate cycled down again, and Rodney winced. "Yes, yes. Before I develop the first case of DHD-related RSI in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Rodney stood up and let Peter take the seat, still massaging his sore muscles. He decided to brave the outside air and get a firsthand look at the view from the balcony while he waited for the tingling to leave his fingers.

Wow, that was... an even more stunning vista than when they'd been underwater. The bright sun glinted off the waves, off the fantastic crystalline angles of the city, and Rodney might have been figuratively dazzled, even if the light hadn't made it literally true.

He leaned on the railing, letting the metal bleed sun-warmth into his arm. He'd barely had a chance to relax before a voice off to his left made him startle.

"Taking a break?"

Rodney looked over to see Major Sheppard lounging in a similar position, gazing out over the city. He'd been hidden by the pillar, and Rodney wondered how long he'd been out here. Rodney had watched Sheppard reenter the control room earlier after his talk with Elizabeth, his face clouded. Later, Elizabeth herself had crossed back through, stopping on the way to her office to check in with them, but Rodney had somehow missed the major returning to the balcony.

Now, Sheppard seemed distant, as if he weren't really seeing the city out there. Rodney couldn't tell whether Sheppard wanted company, so he said briskly, "Don't worry, Major. Grodin is continuing to work through the possible gate addresses for the symbols you supplied us." He used the heel of his other hand to knead the sore spot. "I'm just resting my arm for a minute."

A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to see the major settling in next to him, his back against the railing, palms resting on the edge. Sheppard watched Rodney working out the tightness, and frowned at him. "You guys are dialing by hand?"

The question might have been innocuous, but Rodney straightened, raising his head to meet the major's eyes. "We haven't exactly had time to figure out whether we can control the DHD at all through the laptops, let alone the luxury to set up a program to autodial the gate, so, yes, we're doing it by hand."

Sheppard held up both hands, palms out. "Hey, that wasn't a condemnation, McKay."

"No?"

"No. I'm--I appreciate it." Sheppard gave him a smile--ironic, but almost incongruously shy. He glanced away for a second and then back at Rodney. "Thank you."

Rodney crossed his arms and shifted against the railing, shaking his head. "We haven't actually found the planet, you know."

"You will." Sheppard looked at him, and it was half charm and half challenge. "I have full confidence in you."

It was the same look Sheppard had given Rodney earlier, while demonstrating a far better grasp of admittedly simple combinatorics than Rodney would have anticipated from an Air Force major, the incomparable Samantha Carter notwithstanding. And it was just as unexpected this time.

"Ah--thank you, Major." Rodney wasn't quite sure if he should say something more, but Sheppard nodded amiably and turned to face out to sea again.

He looked tired, and Rodney was briefly, pointedly glad that all he'd had to deal with--well, "all" being relative--were dwindling power reserves and uncooperative computer interfaces. Incredibly human problems, in the greater scheme of things, unlike Sheppard's past few hours. Rodney tried to come up with something to say, but he still didn't know Sheppard all that well, and nothing seemed appropriate.

Turning his head, Sheppard caught Rodney essentially staring at him, and he raised an eyebrow in obvious inquiry. Rodney blinked and waved a hand at a smudge on Sheppard's cheek. "You've, ah, got some dirt on your face." And he did--it must have happened back on the planet. Athos, their new guests had called it.

The dirt stood out like a bruise in the light, like a battle scar--which, Rodney supposed, it was, in a way. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so.

Sheppard chuckled and pulled a handkerchief out of his vest--an honest-to-god handkerchief, and maybe that was a sure sign that Rodney needed to eat something, maybe he was hallucinating something so markedly normal--and swiped at his face. "Did that get it?"

"No, it's a little higher."

"Here." Sheppard held the handkerchief out to Rodney, who just squinted at him in confusion.

"What?"

"You do it."

There was some essential disconnect going on here--Rodney felt like he'd lost track of the conversation. Sheppard seemed entirely serious, still holding out the handkerchief, but people like the major didn't really ask people like Rodney for that sort of assistance. "I'm sorry?"

Sheppard sighed with exaggerated patience. " _You_ can see it. I can't." He offered the handkerchief again. "So, help me out, here."

Sheppard was standing close to him again, close enough that Rodney could see the lines around his eyes, and Rodney resisted his brief impulse to back away. No, people like Sheppard absolutely did not make themselves vulnerable like that in front of people like Rodney, not over something so trivial, so this was clearly some kind of joke. "Major, I don't..."

"Never mind, McKay." Favoring Rodney with a grim little smile, Sheppard palmed the handkerchief and planted his hands on his hips. "I forgot that all that dialing must have wiped you out."

Typical, it was absolutely typical--Rodney raised his head and met Sheppard's look squarely. He knew better than to back down in front of military types, because that was the edge of a slippery slope. "You know, I would have sworn I heard something about gratitude just a minute ago."

"You're absolutely right. It's completely out of line to ask you to do this, on top of everything else." The sarcasm was almost insufferable, and Rodney decided that this was an acceptable time to start picking his battles.

"Oh, all right, fine." He held out his hand, gesturing for the handkerchief. "Give it here."

Sheppard held out his hand, then pulled it back, shaking his head, his expression one of mock concern. "I don't want you getting carpal tunnel or anything."

"Will you just--" Rodney pulled the handkerchief out of Sheppard's hand, and it came away too easily. Sheppard's triumphant little smirk was all out of proportion to his victory, and Rodney realized that he might have been mistaken about which battle to pick.

He rolled his eyes, and reached up, only to have Sheppard lean away at the last second. "Just--don't do the spit thing, okay?"

"Of course not." Rodney grimaced at the very thought. "I've always thought that wasn't just unsanitary, but incredibly disgusting."

"Good." Sheppard leaned back in. With his free hand, Rodney turned Sheppard's head away, both to get a better view and to avoid his gloating smile, but Sheppard kept a sidelong watch on him as Rodney reached for his face.

It was probably a trick of the light, but there was something almost warm about the amusement in Sheppard's eyes, and Rodney's hand faltered as he became intently aware of their relative positions.

There they were again, standing close, too close, just like in the control room. Close enough that Sheppard was becoming a real person.

Not that Rodney had anything against people in general--well, the ones who didn't needlessly take up his time, or bother him when they shouldn't, anyway--but real people took work. They had to be reasoned with, dealt with. He couldn't just navigate around them like obstacles in his path. Real people required the effort necessary to convince them that yes, Rodney did know oh-so-very-much what he was talking about.

Frankly, real people also needed time to get past their initial urge to smack Rodney in the mouth. He wasn't oblivious to that reaction, of course. He knew it happened way more often than not. But acknowledging everyone's issues aloud just made getting to the part where they recognized his point take that much longer, so he preferred to ignore said issues and take advantage of the fact that most parents had conditioned their children to play nicely with others.

And while the work usually paid off in the end, when Rodney was finally able to deal with someone without worrying about vague social rituals, he resented the time it usually took to get there.

But here Sheppard was, eyeing him knowingly, as if he'd short-circuited the process and jumped ahead to the point where Rodney was a real person to him, too, where he understood that what Rodney said was more important than how he said it.

It was incredibly disconcerting. And the warm skin under his fingers, the prickle of stubble against his palm, were making Sheppard far more real than he had any right to be.

He'd been motionless for too long. Sheppard started to turn his chin back, his eyebrows drawing together, and Rodney tightened his grip a little to keep Sheppard from facing him, trying to hold onto a distance that was rapidly diminishing. He brushed at the dirt and said brusquely, "Hold still."

Sheppard smiled, and Rodney felt the movement against his palm. "Well, stop tickling."

Rolling his eyes, Rodney used the handkerchief a little more vigorously. "Stop _squirming_."

That drew a chuckle from Sheppard, and he dipped his head to widen his eyes at Rodney, who sighed. "What are you, five?"

"No. Five-year-olds _like_ being messy."

"Huh. I don't know how else to explain the hair, then." Rodney felt his own eyes widen. When the hell had he been reduced to criticism about personal appearance?

Punch-drunk, he had to be--from the wonder of discovering the city to the conviction that they were all destined for a watery grave, it'd been one shock after another. And then with the added stress of trying to locate their missing people--that had to be why he and the major were metaphorically poking one another like small children.

It made Sheppard smile again, though, so Rodney went with it. "There." He let Sheppard go and handed the handkerchief back. "Now you'll be presentable for your rescue mission, because that's sure to be your greatest concern."

Sheppard stuffed the handkerchief back into a vest pocket. "You're the one who noticed the dirt." Rodney expected him to step back again, but Sheppard stayed right where he was, watching Rodney, and Rodney was the one who finally had to break eye contact.

"I should--I should get back inside," he said, waving at the door, and Sheppard nodded, leaning back against the railing again.

"Thank you again, McKay." Sheppard's voice was light, but when Rodney glanced back at him, Sheppard was staring down at the deck, his expression turning quiet, pensive.

"I'll call when we get a lock," Rodney said, his own voice going inexplicably soft, and he went back inside, ousting Peter from his seat and reclaiming the DHD.

Sheppard's mood must have been infectious--Rodney was lost in thought, dialing the DHD mechanically, when the wormhole finally engaged. He looked up in surprise, as did most of the people in the control room.

As did the people down on the gateroom floor, still clearing away the equipment they'd brought with them. They'd been avoiding the danger zone in front of the gate, fortunately, though Rodney suspected they'd done so more out of habit than anything else.

He shook off his reverie and cut power to the gate, then reached for his radio. "Major Sheppard? We got a lock on one of the addresses."

"See, I knew you could do it, McKay." Rodney heard the balcony door sliding open in stereo, and he looked over to see the major stride back in, focused and professional, though his lips curled in a brief smile as he exchanged a look with Rodney.

Rodney sent a few of the techs to ready the MALP and went back to dialing the rest of the combinations, in case there was another positive connection to be found. He looked up when Sheppard dropped into the seat beside him, but Sheppard didn't say anything, just leaned his elbows on the console and watched Rodney work.

Habits, Rodney reminded himself. Habits, like the people in the gateroom had, could be beneficial, particularly the ones that kept a person safe and out of the way of anything that was potentially dangerous. Or... troublesome.

But for whatever reason, Rodney resisted his. He couldn't bring himself to chase the major away, didn't mention that he wasn't generally fond of anyone hovering over him while he was busy.

"Six hundred and thirty-five," Sheppard murmured to him, after staring at the laptop display for a few minutes, and Rodney realized he'd worked out the pattern the program was using to recombine the gate symbols.

"And eighty-five to go," he replied, dialing in the next one, ignoring the grin that Sheppard sent his way, because it probably wasn't a good idea to encourage him too much. The major seemed like the type of person who attracted trouble like a magnet.

Though Rodney couldn't help wondering whether Sheppard was any good at prime/not-prime.


End file.
